


black snow; pale shadows

by stvebrnes



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Captain Hydra, Canon Divergence - Black Panther (2018), Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Codependency, Identity Porn, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Post-Recovery Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson is Captain America, Trauma Recovery, Wakanda Fixes Everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stvebrnes/pseuds/stvebrnes
Summary: In 1945, when Bucky fell, Steve jumped. Together, through HYDRA's methods, they became the most feared and respected assets HYDRA had ever seen.In 2014, S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and HYDRA was exposed to the world. Captain Hydra and The Winter Soldier disappeared from history.In 2016, King T'Chaka of Wakanda is assassinated, the Avengers fracture after the events of Sokovia, and Cap and Winter come out of retirement.(basically a rewrite of cacw and black panther, with sam as captain america, steve and bucky as cap and winter, and many other changes to come)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 41





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i've been talking with gsquashington/kesselin about this for a little while and it finally demanded to be written. i wanted to write a recovery fic, fix the events of civil war, and give t'challa, shuri, and the rest of the black panther crew their due justice. so naturally i did This. 
> 
> updates every Sunday!

“Возьми паука,” the Captain murmurs to his Soldat as they board the final helicarrier. They have no air support, so they must divide and conquer. Captain America circles around the helicarrier, Black Widow suspended below him, but before they can make it high enough to clear out personnel, the Captain throws his shield, lodging it into the wing. The impact is enough to dislodge the connection, the red and white wing crumpling in on itself, dropping Captain America to the ground. 

He strikes, leaving no time for hesitation, just as a flash of silver and red fills his periphery. His Soldat opens fire upon the spider, leaving the Captain to focus solely on his target. Captain America throws his shield, but the Captain snags it out of the air. The gunfire becomes hand to hand combat behind him. His world flips horizontally as a strong hand seizes his ankle and rips him to the ground. 

Captain America is on him, the Captain holding the shield up - a garish red and white, not at all like the matte black and red he uses, but it’s _familiar_ and that alone makes him want to ask questions that he doesn’t have time to ask. He tries to bash in Captain America’s head with the shield, pushing it upwards, and he succeeds in throwing him off, only for the partially-resumed gunfire to end with a sharp metallic click and crackle of static.

He kicks up onto his feet, grabbing his own shield out of the discarded wing, dropped from the jetpack that allowed Captain America’s flight. A quick surveillance of the top of the helicarrier shows his Soldat pulling a small disk off his arm, crackles of electricity arcing up the metal. The spider is back up to her old tricks again, repeating the move from the causeway earlier that day. He winces a little in small sympathy, knowing how deep those metal connections go. 

His Soldat looks up at him as he forces his arm back to functioning, but the bird and spider are nowhere to be found. There isn’t time to share a look, but there is time for the Captain to rearm his Soldat as they resume the chase. 

With a grounded Captain America, the fight should have been easily sealed. His Soldat lights up the glass container while the Captain enters from the reverse side, angling his shield to redirect bullets that may miss the intended target. It scatters the bird and spider, but they’ve already entered in the code to reveal the targeting chips implanted in the helicarrier. 

Black Widow takes on his Soldat, and the Captain surges forward, grabbing her by the harness and throwing her off the catwalk they’re currently fighting on, only to get kicked in the jaw. He hears the shattering of glass and a sudden _sucking_ and whistling as the glass chamber breaks from the errant bullets. The whirr of helicopter blades gets louder as Director Fury swings close. If he’s here, that means Pierce is dead. The plan is lost, but perhaps this one helicarrier will be all that remains of HYDRA’s genius. It’s a shame Sitwell had to die; they could have used him, if only he hadn’t been a snitch.

He jumps down to the spider, keeping care to remain on the arched metal so as to avoid the shattering glass. He’s aiming to kill, as is she, but it’s the sharp _crack_ and **_scream_ **from across the chamber that makes the Captain’s violet haze turn red. 

He shifts his tactic from kill to grab, and once he has her in his grasp, he all but throws her out the new opening of the glassware, brought about by her own support. Across the chamber he sees his Soldat striking out at Captain America down on the still complete side of the glass, his Soldat in a chokehold and refusing to give up the reprogramming chip. 

The Captain reaches for his gun, only to remember he gave it to his Soldat to replace the ones he’d lost since the fight atop the Triskelion. Knives were only so good, but the Captain throws one anyway, missing as Captain America moves just out of the way. 

His Soldat lays unconscious on the floor. 

The helicopter firing comes again, interrupted with an irritated “I’m still here man!” from the bird. The Captain pulls himself upright on the catwalk only to watch Captain America click the reprogramming chip into place. 

A single shot rings out, singular from the rough staccato of shooting from the machine guns loaded on the side of the copter, and Captain America drops to his knees, breathing heavily. He wheezes “Fire now” into his comm, seeming to resign himself to this condition. Between the cracks of the catwalk, the Captain sees his Soldat in a standing position, his injured arm loose at his side. Even from here, even with the uniform, the Captain can see the bruising around his Soldat’s neck.

The Captain sees his chance and lunges. 

Then the chamber bursts into fire, the very structure of the helicarrier beginning to collapse in on itself. The gunfire is infinitely more than what the helicopter could summon, and the Captain takes a moment to realize the degree of this failure. He and his Soldat kneel in the wreckage of HYDRA’s crowning achievement, and they could do no better than to only half catch Captain America. 

The impact knocks him on his side, but Captain America falls from the balcony down to where the twisted metal has remained whole enough. The Captain jumps down, the force of his impact cracking some ribs in the man beneath him. He pins him down, and looks up to ask his Soldat what he thinks they should do. 

_What mission protocol? Would this prize erase the failure they stay in? Is anyone of importance even left?_

His timing -- _perfect, always perfect, he was always applauded for being perfect_ \-- means he watches as a falling metal beam crushes his Soldat beneath it. Between the crack of his Soldat’s shoulder, the scream of pain from before, and the now truly desperate scream he hears now, he knows there’s no way he’s following this mission's parameters. 

His Soldat has always been his mission. 

Abandoning a bleeding and bruised Captain America on the glass, the Captain gets up and runs over, pulling up the metal pinning his Soldat to the carrier. It takes all of his strength, all of his focus, but his Soldat is able to squirm out. The Captain grabs his Soldat and pulls him up, careful not to wrench his shoulder further. 

“Careful,” he murmurs softly, looking into those wide icy blue eyes. Together, they take in the destruction of the helicarrier, the helicopter with a familiar flash of red in the back seat, and the utter failure they remain in. 

“This is not…” _This is not the first time,_ his Soldat almost says, and the Captain knows this, knows instantly what his Soldat will say to him. But no, this is not the first time. 

The first time, neither of them know. 

But it doesn’t matter. As they watch the helicopter swerve to catch the falling body of Captain America, the glass finally gives way beneath them, sending them and thousands of pounds of shrapnel down into the Potomac. 

Captain Hydra and the Winter Soldier fall to the water, washed from history. 

* * *

Two days later, they arrive.

* * *

_They need to get off the grid. HYDRA has been purged, and with it, they have a truly once in a lifetime opportunity to get away. They aren’t unscathed - the Captain is without his shield, his Soldat is without a functioning arm - but that they are together at all is nothing short of a miracle._

_They know of HYDRA cells scattered throughout the world but there is nothing that could entice them to go anywhere near them._

_Old leads, safe houses, and information spanning multiple generations of knowledge unfolds in their brains as they sit, soaking wet, half hidden in the bushes along the Potomac river bank._

_“Soldat,” and it’s_ tender _when the Captain says it, “what of that one that went cold?”_

_Thinking of places to go that no one could find leads them back to the one mystery HYDRA never fully solved. Captain Hydra came into his mantle with a vibranium shield already equipped. It was rare, difficult to get, but enough had been found to create an arm for his Soldat. There was once a source for the metal, though. A source that no one could figure out, even when vibranium started appearing in greater quantities._

_His Soldat nods, teeth pinching into his lower lip. The Captain reaches out and gently pulls the lip free._

_“It could be a trap.”_

_“S.H.I.E.L.D no longer exists. HYDRA has fallen. The world is a trap.”_

_“And if we cannot find this place?”_

_“Then we do what we must. But Klaue was selling from somewhere, and there was never any conclusion on how he got the ores.”_

_For twenty years, HYDRA could not figure out where the vibranium alloys were coming from. S.H.I.E.L.D took the technology and gifted it to Captain America when he took the mantle, but through the holes of memories, already some light shines through. Waking up from 1992 to 2012, there was always a question of_ Where? 

_But after the attack on New York, and with S.H.I.E.L.D’s - and therefore HYDRA’s - greater public presence, the questions stopped coming. Two years later, they stand with this unanswered question as the only possibility to a new life._

_A day of searching brings them to one name. Perhaps a cover, a codename perhaps. One of someone well connected with a secret supplier of a thing they would be more than content to guard._

_They don’t have time to discuss._

_Whoever or whatever it is, Wakanda is their only choice now._

* * *

A line of armed men and women meet them. 

The women stand strong and tall, spears at their sides. Another man wearing purple robes, with curious markings around his head and face, stands with the group. He too has a spear, though it doesn’t look as comfortable for him as the women. The weapons hum with a life that reminds the Captain of his Soldat’s arm. This unorthodox combination already strikes a chord within the Captain, and he knows his Soldat is on the same wavelength. 

HYDRA never failed to show its strength among those who deserved to see it. But that does not mean that they did not know covert ops. The Captain and his Soldat are the result of those covert ops. 

Here, it seems, the sampled populace is much the same way. 

But the spears, tattoos, raised skin and robes, practically wash away in comparison to the figure in the middle. 

He’s clearly in charge, the armed women standing primarily in protection of him, though the purple robed figure is also partially covered. He wears a suit of deep, rich black, with gold metallic detailing throughout. The cat mask he wears covers his whole head, a more complete combination of the Captain’s cowl and his Soldat’s mask and goggles. A proud ring of teeth -- claws? -- encircles the neck, gleaming in the same metal as the rest of the detailing. 

He flexes his hands, and ten sharp spikes appear, one at the end of each of his fingers. A subtle flex, and the women lower their stances. 

The Captain can feel his Soldat awaiting his instruction. 

He gives none.

The women speak to him in a language he does not understand, but he can read their tone well enough. He hears it in his own words when it comes to matters of his Soldat. 

Cold blue eyes scan the gathering of selected individuals. He and his Soldat have been through enough assassinations to understand how many governments work. And it is like this that the Captain comes to the conclusion that saves his life. 

He kneels. 

Hands slowly fold behind his head, and he watches as his Soldat follows his movements. 

Again, the women ask a question, though this time, it is in English. 

“We will not ask you again; who are you?” 

“Captain Hydra and the Winter Soldier. We seek amnesty and protection. HYDRA has fallen.” 

The cat man speaks, his voice partially muffled by the fabric. “You think Wakanda associates with HYDRA?” 

The Captain shakes his head, daring to look up. “Not at all, sir. That’s why we’re here.” 

“Where better to hide than a country in which no one knows the truth?” his Soldat murmurs, also looking up from his kneeling position. The Captain can see the way in which these people view his Soldat’s arm, perhaps drawing connections between their own weapons and his. 

“HYDRA trailed Ulysses Klaue, once long ago. They never discovered his source.” 

The cat steps forward, claws still extended, and the women follow. Only the purple robed figure stays where he is, observing the newcomers at his own angle. 

“And you believe we are the source?” 

“HYDRA took Wakanda to be a code name, and could never find a person to match.” The Captain lets himself settle a little more into the kneeling position. “We came here because it was the closest thing to a lead we have. Even if you aren’t the source, we don’t wish for that. Just...help.” 

The word feels strange, foreign on his tongue. It’s not something he’s said out loud all that often in the past 70 or so years. Even still, he remains focused on the cat, blue eyes remaining respectfully two inches to the left of the cat’s closest ear. 

He knows his Soldat is watching the purple robed man. He knows his Soldat will do anything to not be turned back over to HYDRA. 

The fact that they are being treated with suspicion instead of relief proves they came to the right place. Or, at least, a place capable of subduing them should they prove to be too much. They need that, or so they’ve been told.

* * *

They’re stripped of their weapons and stolen clothes. For the following week they remain in a cell, albeit the nicest cell either of them have ever been in. The technological marvels Wakanda possesses draw much of his Soldat’s attention when he doesn’t think he’s looking. 

What a foolish thought; the Captain is always looking. 

The morning of the eighth day finds them pressed together in the bed, sharing the space as much as they can. This is the longest they’ve been out of cryo, out of the Chair, for as long as they can remember. And that’s part of the problem: the remembering.

His Soldat still answers to his title, as the Captain answers to his, but they both know there is something beyond that. An address beyond serial numbers, prisoner numbers, titles and codenames and slang. They had _names_ once. 

The Captain cups his Soldat’s cheek, watching him in the low light of the Citadel’s prison, studying the changes. His beard is thicker than it was a mere week ago, and not only that, but he’s beginning to fill out nicely. He feels stronger, even laying here in rest. Once the Wakandans realized the Captain and his Soldat couldn’t yet eat solid food, they switched to twice a day IV treatments for them both. They were conducted within the cell, a process complicated by the fact that the Captain would not surrender his own arm to be fed if his Soldat had not already had his process begun. 

They both have fully recovered from the fight in DC, something that feels so long ago now. At night, they whisper to each other in hushed tones, a mixture of languages to communicate freely. The guards may know what they say, but let them overhear. 

None of them flinch when they talk to each other. 

None of them seem to give any indication that they are listening. 

But instead of the cold indifference of a soldier whose gun rests on a table, a cold indifference the Captain and his Soldat are so used to receiving, this one feels….patient. Long lasting. Purposeful and clear. 

They still won’t sleep at the same time though. 

And so it’s the Captain who receives the news first, when the cat from before returns. He knows it is he from his bearing, though now he’s dressed in his royal finery, not the suit from before. Though the prison does not have the same windows as the rest of the Citadel, the golden-touched morning of Wakanda spills into the hallway as the King of Wakanda arrives. King T’Chaka watches the two of them, brows furrowed, taking in the refugees that have run to his borders for protection. 

The Captain continues gently stroking his Soldat’s cheek, not looking away from the sleeping soldier next to him. But he waits, knowing King T’Chaka is biding his time. 

_So let him see,_ the Captain thinks, _let him see what he is getting._

His Soldat shifts in his sleep a little, curling closer into the ever present warmth of the Captain’s body. Rest comes uneasily to his Soldat. HYDRA was always rougher with his Soldat, when the Captain failed to comply. The Captain traces his fingers gently through greasy hair, knowing the tortured spots on his Soldat. It’s reverent, this sweet touch, and as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of his Soldat’s head, he looks up through the glass. 

King T’Chaka has not looked away. He does not approach the enclosure. His guard certainly would not let him, though the Captain notes that the women are watching with seemingly equal interest. The Dora Milaje, as the Captain now knows that they are called, seem to appraise them. 

The Captain knows they look much less threatening than they are, in gifted white tank tops and soft, light pants. Each of them is barefoot, a phenomenon unheard of in the clutches of HYDRA. No one wanted to waste precious preparation time with putting on shoes, but it had the added benefit of keeping the Captain and his Soldat warm. Between cryo and their extensive time in Soviet custody, the average temperature of their lives for the past 70 years has been below freezing. 

For the first time in a long time, they’re _warm._

His Soldat wakes up, but remains pressed against him, keeps his breathing even and slow. To the outside world, he remains unconscious. But the Captain knows better. He always knows better when it comes to his Soldat. 

King T’Chaka takes a step forward and the Dora Milaje do as well. 

A short exchange is had in that same strange language the Captain does not know. It ends, in English, with “They will be treated.” 

* * *

Two years go by. King T’Chaka granted them amnesty within Wakanda in exchange for information on possible threats to the country. The Wakandan Design Group spearheads their trauma work, which does involve a few more days locked in cryo, but by the time they come back, things feel...different. 

They’re allowed to live within the confines of Wakandan territory, near the border tribe. They have a farm of their own, independence in the form of goats, chickens, and fruits. They’re left alone, as per the Policies of Engagement as decreed by the King. And they get new names. 

Their existence is a secret from all within the country, save for the King, the Dora Milaje, and the head of the Wakandan Design Group, who just so happened to be the King’s daughter. They’re allowed brief visitations, from time to time. Few take them up on it. 

For all intents and purposes, they don’t exist. 

In 2016, King T’Chaka dies without telling his son of the White Lion and White Wolf residing at the edges of their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stvebrnes) and pls leave comments, they're the best! 
> 
> "Возьми паука" = get the spider


	2. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa mourns his father's passing, vows revenge, and gets a surprising piece of insight from the Ancestral Plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just couldn't wait so here, have the first chapter a couple days early! as if the fact that steve jumped off the train doesn't count as canon divergence _enough,_ it quickly ramps up here.

“We need to go back to Wakanda.” 

T’Challa does not acknowledge his General’s words, still frozen, staring at the body of his father. It’s not dignified, this death. To be killed by a terrorist, so far from home, and with no one to be held accountable but a ghost. Media claims it to be The Winter Soldier, a Soviet assassin whose last sighting had been two years ago, until today. 

A part of T’Challa wonders exactly how such a thing has gone unnoticed. The Avengers are supposedly designed to handle situations like this. Yet with the events of Sokovia still very present on everyone’s minds, and the blood of innocent Wakandan’s spilled in their ineptitude, T’Challa is not surprised. Of course the assassin who turned S.H.I.E.L.D. inside out would be able to bomb a highly televised and public signing, just as his father took to the podium. 

Just as Wakanda was willing to put a hand into the darkness of the world beyond the shimmering veil. 

T’Challa breaks his gaze with the shrouded body, redirecting his focus to his father’s ring. The lighting is dim here, in the hull of their personal ship, invisible in the clouds.

“What Wakanda needs is answers.”  _ What _ **_I_ ** _ need is answers. _

“With all due respect...my King.” Okoye trips over the title and that alone makes T’Challa look over at her. She’s not unaffected by the death of T’Chaka. She too gazes down at the sheet pulled over the former king, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Wakanda can only get answers from a mouth she trusts, and that is the mouth of her King. We will handle this as we always have: from within.” 

T’Challa nods. In the dark safety of this ship, he puts a hand on Okoye’s shoulder, squeezing in support. “Then we will return home. James Barnes cannot hide for long.” 

* * *

After the funeral rites and ritual challenge, T’Challa lays in the red sand, surrounded by family and other members of the Citadel. Zuri kneels over him, holding a black spout to his mouth, gently tipping in the purple liquid as he begins to softly speak. 

“Allow the Heart-Shaped Herb to restore the powers of the Black Panther to the King of Wakanda and take you to the Ancestral Plane. T’Chaka! We call on you...come here, to your son.” 

The power of the Black Panther surges through him, and with it, memories of the last time he was in this space. His father, wearing his Panther Habit, gently cupping his cheek and looking at him with pride as they surveyed the cultivation of the Heart-Shaped Herbs. He remembers the final touch of his father against his cheek, moments before disaster. 

That was earlier today. With this blessing, he will be unstoppable. He will be able to find this...this  _ Winter Soldier,  _ and make him pay for what he has done. 

But his thoughts slowly become not his own, and he very faintly feels something lightly brushing over him. 

It’s at odds with the way he desperately crawls toward his father, trying to save Wakanda’s king. His body still aches from the damage taken in the explosion, but it begins to fade away as he slips from this realm to the next.

He rises from the earth, to pink and blue skies, in a quiet plain. He’s in his own clothes, not the three piece suit he had been in before. Here, he is without pain. Looking around, he takes in the staggered trees, creating a circle for him to wake within. Directly before him stands a tree with bare branches, save for panthers with bright glowing eyes. Something pulls him towards them. He stands, slowly approaching despite the low vocalizations coming from the panther spirits. 

As he arrives, one jumps down from the branches, and in a soft glow of light, the panther is replaced with his father. 

The relief of seeing his father whole, coupled with the grief of knowing this is a vision for only the time being, nearly stops T’Challa’s heart. He folds easily into his father’s arms, holding tightly, allowing himself this one embrace. But the reality of  _ how  _ this has come to be comes swiftly after, and he falls to his knees, holding his father’s hand in his. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring down at the purple dirt by his father’s feet. 

“Stand. Up. You are a king.”

T’Chaka’s voice remains as powerful and commanding in death as it had in life, and T’Challa can’t help but look up. 

_ But I shouldn’t be,  _ he thinks, every bit as petulant in his own mind as he would have been as a child.  _ You should still be here.  _

Yet as he rises, meeting his father’s eyes, he tucks that childish thought away. He is the King, and this would have happened one way or another in his lifetime. This was an inevitability, being the son of the King. Why is he surprised? What gives him the right to feel this strongly? 

He looks up at the tree, still decorated with panther spirits of Kings past. Each of them has stood where he stands now, to receive knowledge from his predecessor that will keep Wakanda strong. And, T’Challa supposes, looking back into his father’s eyes, closure. 

T’Chaka gives him a warm smile, stepping away, effortlessly cutting through false pretenses. “What is wrong, my son?” 

“I am not ready, Baba.” His voice does not waver yet. 

“Have you not prepared to be king your whole life? Have you not trained and studied, been by my side?” 

These are true statements, but they aren’t his worries. He knows he can run Wakanda. He has the expert advice of his mother, and Okoye and the rest of the Dora Milaje, and Nakia, and Shuri -- he is not alone. But…

“I am not ready to be without you,” he admits, standing by his father’s side. 

He watches his father turn to him, brows slightly furrowed in that way of perfect honesty he always had about him. “A man who has not prepared his children for his own death has failed as a father. Have I ever failed you?”

“Never.” The word comes easy, for it is true. His father has never let him down; not once. 

But he does have questions. 

“Tell me how best to protect Wakanda. Tell me how to avenge your death.” 

His father slowly shakes his head, looking down at the space between them. The savanna seems darker now, slightly shifted towards full darkness. Perhaps this is a sign that this dream is soon to be over; that he is soon to awake in his body. 

In the brief moment of silence, he continues, “I want to be a great king, Baba. Just like you.” 

Had he not been watching his father so closely, he would not have seen the slight sense of defeat settle on his father’s shoulders. Perhaps not defeat…but something close. 

“You’re going to struggle,” his father begins. “So you need to surround yourself with people you trust. You’re a good man, with a good heart. And it’s hard for a good man to be King.” 

As he speaks, he gestures behind him, and two pale shadows appear. They are not spirits of this world, so clearly not Wakandan in nature. The prowling shapes spill across the dim lit grass and soil as if made of moonlight.

“Two years ago,” T’Chaka continues, “I set something in motion. Something that I believe will address your second concern.” 

T’Challa watches as the two shapes come up to them. They do not flank the spirit of his father, nor are they anything he can remember from the stories. The one in front has the wide set shoulders and thick mane of hair emblematic of a male lion, while the second shape, much slimmer and canine in nature, strikes T’Challa as that of a wolf. Too big to be Wakandan, and a strange pair, for they do not snarl at each other or seem aggressive. The pale shadows curl into a seated position, though they watch T’Challa. 

He looks up to his father for more information, but before he can speak, he’s being pulled up out of the red sand again, gasping for breath. Zuri’s strong hand keeps him steady. 

“Breathe! T’Challa,  _ breathe. _ ” 

He’s gasping, he knows this. The children can see him trembling, leaning into Zuri’s frame. Let them. Let them see what it takes to become King.

“He was there,” he pants, looking up into Zuri’s familiar gaze. “He was there...my father.” 

He smiles, relieved to have been accepted by the power of Bast. The smile does not quite reach his eyes, however, and Zuri notices. Still, there’s ceremony to be had, and it takes hours before the two of them can speak. 

As the festivities of T’Challa’s coronation echo throughout the city, the king himself approaches Zuri, speaking to others of his tribe. At the arrival of their new king, the three men properly salute, arms crossed over their chests. T’Challa returns the gesture. 

“I do hope I am not interrupting,” he murmurs, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“No, not at all my King,” Zuri replies. “I had actually wished to speak with you.” 

“My first audience as King; it would be an honor to have you.” He smiles as he says it, more warmth than he would have thought possible in these times. Zuri is his father’s closest confidant, and a well trusted member of the throne. He’s also the only one T’Challa trusts with his vision. 

Together the King and advisor make their way to the windows behind the throne. Shuri is holding her own court, a mixture of coworkers and people her own age, talking about some new technological marvel. T’Challa can see that she is excited for him, though he knows the death of their father is still fresh. Part of the court’s purpose is a distraction for her, and he can’t blame her. She’s the baby of the family, even at age 18. 

A soft hum from Zuri shakes him from his thoughts. “Her leadership is unparalleled, my King. You should be proud.” 

“Her accomplishments are her own, Zuri. I do not have the mind for her position, nor do I pretend to.” T’Challa does smile, though it quickly falls. “I fear my mind is on other things.” 

Zuri nods, a knowing look in his eye. “Is it about your father?” 

“About the...mechanics of the Ancestral Plane, yes. Can those who are not Wakandan live there?” The question is both a genuine one but also an attempt to see how much Zuri knows. As T’Chaka’s chief advisor, it would make sense that he would know of any information his father hadn’t yet given him. He expects to see shock, but instead there’s slight confusion. 

“No. The Ancestral Plane is for ancestors of Wakanda and her people, guarded by Bast and Sekhmet. No outsiders are to be found.” 

T’Challa hums. “Then what of the pale wolf and lion I saw?” 

At this, Zuri inclines his head, as if asking permission to gather his words. T’Challa lets him have this for the time being, but a part of him - the angry part of him, the childish part of him, the part that wants Barnes’ blood scattered to the wind in the ineptitude of the Avengers - wants to shake the answer free. 

“Two years ago, Wakanda took in two refugees. They are not Wakandan citizens; they did not express interest in being given that privilege. Nor do they belong to any other country. They live in secrecy, and their existence was supposed to be passed to you, from your father. As that is not the case...the information came to you now.” Zuri looks up at T’Challa, and takes a half step back. “Follow me.” 

T’Challa, shocked at the existence of secret people in his country, and perturbed at the idea of more secrets in the aftermath of his father’s passing, follows. 

Zuri takes him out of the throne room, to the record hall of the Citadel. Here, the festivities do not reach, the music and laughter dimming the further they get from the throne room. T’Challa nods to his mother and sister as he passes, the both of them doing a small double take when they see him following Zuri. 

T’Challa steps up to Zuri’s side as they walk through the halls. “Who else knows about them?” 

Zuri hesitates for a brief second, but continues his pace. As he opens the door for his king, he looks at him with a small look of shame. “The King and Queen, the Wakandan Design Group, and the Dora Milaje.” 

“And you.” 

“...And me, yes.” 

Is this why Okoye was so insistent on returning home? Did she want to employ the use of these strange foreign spirits? While Nakia wished for Wakanda to be a part of the world, and had partially gotten her wish with the authorization of the good-will missionary work, the consequences had been dire. They had  _ led  _ to the Accords in the first place - a document still unsigned by some members of the Avengers. 

But, more importantly, why wasn’t he told? 

“Why?” T’Challa steps into the doorway at Zuri’s insistence, but the moment the golden door slides shut he puts a hand on Zuri’s shoulder. “Please; I need to know what they are. What they can do. I asked my father how best to avenge his death and the lion and wolf were all the answer I received.” 

“Who killed your father, T’Challa?” Zuri asks as he leads them deeper into the archive.

The question throws him for a second. “They call him The Winter Soldier. James Barnes, I believe, is his real name.” 

“And that is impossible.” 

T’Challa watches as Zuri presses his hand to a gold panel, hardly different from the rest of the shelves in the archive. With the powers of the Heart-Shaped Herb, however, he can see the faint outline even before it shines a deep purple. Zuri takes his hand away, and the panel flips to reveal an old fashioned manilla folder. 

It’s beaten up around the edges, paperclips sticking out with some plastic flags here and there. The file is thick, stuffed with papers, photographs, and what looks like small notebooks in some places. T’Challa watches as Zuri takes it out of the cabinet and offers it to him. In his father’s familiar handwriting, the words  _ White Lion/White Wolf  _ appear in Xhosa on the cover. 

“What is this? And what does this have to do with my father’s death?” As he asks the questions, he slowly takes the file. He opens it, and the first picture paperclipped to the edge of the folder sends a shiver down his spine. 

He’s not overly familiar with the man on the right, but the dark haired man on the left matches the blurred image circulating international media. He looks to be in a cryogenic chamber, plain white tank top with a black cap on what remains of his left shoulder. His eyes are closed; he looks at peace. Next to him, dressed similarly, is a slimmer man, not that that means much. He’s got broad shoulders, a thick beard, and shaggy blond hair. He’s also in a cryogenic chamber, eyes closed, but the cut of his jaw and crook of his nose give him away. 

This  _ is  _ James Barnes and Steve Rogers; or, as the world may remember them, The Winter Soldier and Captain Hydra. Two of history’s most lethal assassins and soldiers, first seen somewhere in the 50’s with only sporadic sightings throughout history. The sightings, of course, come only from intelligence agencies. As he flips through the folder, he sees some notices from War Dogs of years past, handwritten notes from soldiers as his father had been. As Zuri had been. 

As T’Challa processes this, he flips back to the front of the folder, and realizes that the image has them side by side. They’re in separate cryogenic chambers, yes, but they are in the same room. The black and white walls and flooring, coupled with the vibrant murals wrapped around the staircases make the two frozen men look even more out of place.

He looks up at Zuri, brows furrowed and fury running hot through him. And then it hits him; Zuri had said that the Wakandan Design Group knew about their existence. Shuri had taken the lead of that department when she was 15. But, according to Zuri and the file, the White Lion and White Wolf had been here for two years already. 

Shuri knew about them. Odds are, she had  _ worked  _ on them. His sister, his father, his mother, Okoye, Nakia; all knew about the danger kept as, what, pets? Frozen assets? 

“How does that make us any better than what happened with HYDRA?” T’Challa whispers. He knew what happened when Ms. Romanov had emptied S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA’s secrets onto the internet. That had been two years ago - according to this, around the same time that the White Lion and White Wolf had come to Wakanda. 

“Because they would be doing this out of respect for their king. We cannot speak for them, and...I know this is a lot to handle. But read through the file.” Zuri takes a small step to the side, but T’Challa is too frozen to follow. 

“...I have a feeling they’ll be expecting you, anyhow.” 

* * *

T’Challa spends the night reading every inch of the White Lion/White Wolf file. He doesn’t even know what to  _ call  _ them. It seems that for their research purposes, they’d been given the names written on the outside of the folder. But they had names, codenames of their own, going back over 70 years. 

“James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes” became “Sergeant Barnes” who became “The Winter Soldier,” “Sasha,” “White Wolf,” and “Winter.” 

“Steven Grant Rogers” became “Captain America” who became “Captain Hydra,” “Sergei,” “White Lion,” and “Cap.” 

It’s all too much, but the thing that sticks out to him is the impossibility of all of this. He wants his father’s killer dead, but if White Wolf was in Wakanda at the time, it’s impossible. But why frame him in particular? Why  _ his  _ father? What did the actual killer hope to gain from this?

If the world chases Barnes, that leads them to secrets of Wakanda that T’Challa isn’t sure he wants the rest of the world to know. He promised to kill the man himself, but what comes of that now? 

And why does he feel as if everyone else in this Citadel knows what’s going on except for him?

The soft tap of metal against the stone floor makes him look over his shoulder. Okoye approaches, slow and calculated, followed by three other members of the Dora Milaje. 

They’re silent for a long moment, sizing each other up, before T’Challa finally murmurs, “Take me to them.” 

Okoye leads him in silence out of the Citadel to a waiting transport. They take their seats, one of the other Dora Milaje taking over for the short flight, while Okoye leans forward to the circular table in the middle of the cab. Black sand surges upward, providing an overview of a farm. Little sandy goats move from hay pile to hay pile, a few chickens scattered here and there as well. A small house sits, tucked into a grove of fruit trees. 

T’Challa watches as Okoye gently reaches forward, brushing her finger along the edge of the rooftop. The interior of the small house reveals itself; a bedroom and kitchen, nothing more, with a separate bathhouse in the back. 

T’Challa’s brows furrow. “They still live within the limits of our protection; why do they have one of the false homes?”

“They asked for it to be that way. Said they wanted minimal technological interference.” Okoye’s answer comes quietly, uncharacteristic for her. 

Two glowing figures are inside the house, one of them working with both hands at the counter in the kitchen space, the other sitting at the table. From what T’Challa can see, the seated figure is missing his left arm. 

It takes them next to no time for them to arrive at the outskirts of the farm. The ship hovers low to the ground, the quiet engine working just enough to keep the ship airborne, though not enough to disrupt the animals below. While the pilot remains in her seat, the other two guards step to the door, disappearing in a small flash of blue light. 

Okoye stands, yet waits for T’Challa. 

He looks at her, expectantly. After all,  _ she’s  _ known about these two for years longer than he has. He has no idea what he’s getting into, other than the file. Okoye looks back at the table, still showing the small diagram of the farm. The glowing figures each make their way out of the house, the slimmer one approaching first, arms crossed. 

“They will respect you.” Her fingers wrap around her spear, though with not any more ferocity than they do around the Citadel, or elsewhere in Wakanda. That alone soothes some part of T’Challa’s nerves. 

He steps through the doorway, Okoye following. He only feels as if he’s taking a step down, though he and the rest of his guard have arrived 90 feet further down onto the ground than they had been before. T’Challa comes up to the edge of the property, hands clasped in front of him.

White Lion looks down at him from the small elevated platform around the edge of their home. He’s wearing simple clothing, far more fitting for a farmer than a HYDRA killing machine. Just over his shoulder in the relative darkness of the house is White Wolf, bare right arm exposed to the sunlight, his left nowhere to be seen. 

They’re not speaking to the Dora Milaje, though they do not look unaccustomed to their presence. When they see T’Challa, they step forward, coming down to the dirt slightly downhill from where T’Challa and Okoye stand. They cross their arms over their chest in the Wakandan salute, bowing their heads as they drop to one knee. It’s beyond the typical Wakandan salute, far beyond the typical exchange between King and subject. This is something more.

White Lion kneels a little closer to T’Challa than White Wolf does, though not threatening in any way. 

“King T’Challa.” His voice is deep and strong. It is the voice of a leader. “We’re sorry to learn of your father’s passing.” 

T’Challa swallows. “How could you know of that?” 

White Lion looks up, slightly violet eyes meeting T’Challa’s gaze. “You wouldn’t be here if you were not King.” 

White Wolf looks up as well, but he remains silent. There’s a soft resignation to his gaze that gives T’Challa pause. He knows more than anyone that looks can be deceiving. But this man does not look like the masked killer who would destroy a peaceful king in the midst of his speech. Not wearing farmer’s clothes and remaining deferential to his king and captain. 

“I’ve read your files, Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes. You are...quite a competent pair.” He lets the silence stand for a few seconds, before continuing, “You may stand.” 

Soundlessly, each of them obeys, looking to him for further guidance. They do not hesitate to meet his gaze, which settles some part of T’Challa’s mind. He wondered the state they would be in a mere 2 years after becoming free from HYDRA’s control. But they look well rested, more touched by the elements. That in no way diminishes the capabilities they have. 

Without looking away from them, he says to Okoye in Xhosa, “What do you think?” 

“I think they are a hope for getting information without exposing the Black Panther to the rest of the world too soon. However, sending White Wolf out into the world when all the world looks for him can only cause trouble. We know that they would be subject to the Accords, if they entered as independent agents.” 

“And if they were acting as emissaries on the command of Wakanda’s king? A gesture of good will to those who wished to work with the law, and to bring the actual killer of my father to justice?” 

“With all due respect, my King,” White Lion speaks up, in surprisingly well learned Xhosa, “we act on your word. It is part of the agreement that lets us stay here. We’ll do as you ask, in defense of Wakanda and her people. But also know that you would have a much better chance of success if you were to send us out together.” 

T’Challa pauses, but watches Okoye’s eyes widen a little as she looks askance, letting her king figure this out for himself. He sighs. 

“What do you know of the current situation?” he asks, switching the conversation back to English.

White Wolf speaks for the first time. “Someone killed your father and is blaming it on me. Half the Avengers have their hands tied with the Accords and the other half are off the grid, probably trying not to be arrested.” 

T’Challa watches as White Lion shifts his body, just a little bit, just enough to orient further to White Wolf. It’s the same well-trained response to the king’s movements that all Dora Milaje, even the little ones, have. It speaks to someone who will always have one mission above all others. 

“You want your father’s killer brought to justice. Well, we want that too.” 

“And you don’t want the Avengers, ‘hands tied’ or not, coming for you.” T’Challa has read the files, yes, but he didn’t quite realize just how  _ close  _ their bond was. To call it a bond is to wash it into another category entirely; it’s more like devotion. 

“...No. We don’t.” 

T’Challa clicks his tongue in thought, but he already has a feeling this could be for the best. At the very least, he can see what these two can do. They could become full time correspondents to the Avengers, or informants elsewhere. But before they do, they need to have weapons, gear, and at the very least both hands available for use. And that means there’s only one place to go. 

T’Challa turns and begins to walk back towards the ship. “Well you’re not going to fix the world dressed like that. Come.” 

* * *

His sister’s laboratory is truly a marvel to behold. T’Challa knows this. 

The two men following him have spent extensive time here, being deprogrammed from HYDRA’s code phrases and words, a process neatly outlined in the file he’d read the night prior. T’Challa knows this as well. 

But it’s still strange to see these two assassins stride down the hallway, flanking their king, looking completely at ease in the space. Shuri waits at the end of the long hallway, and politely bows, perhaps to be more of a little shit than she rightfully has to be, but also perhaps to lighten the mood. 

“My King,” she intones, and T’Challa huffs at her. 

“Stop it. There’s work to be done.” But even as he says that, he can’t leave his sister hanging, and completes their sibling version of the salute. 

He does  _ not  _ expect both White Lion and White Wolf to each have a secret shake with her as well, her good mood never once dissipating. 

“I take it this is the work you mean? Hey, Bucky, what did I say--” 

“It’s hard to wear sneakers when you only have one hand to tie them. And I like being barefoot.” 

“Bare feet are  _ not  _ allowed in the lab! You’re a walking safety nightmare, you know that, correct?” She spins on her heel, leading them down the spiraling staircase. Somehow, T’Challa winds up at the back of the pack, the two super soldiers between them. White Lion - or Steve, if that set of names is now on the table - wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist, supporting him as they go. It’s a gentle decline, there’s really no need for assistance, but as he presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s temple, T’Challa gets the sense that’s not what this gesture is for. 

“You two aren’t scheduled to come in for a check up in a couple more months, though. What brings you here? I know Brother finally got the book, Zuri told me last night.”

“We’re getting back in it. Gotta clear Buck’s name, figure out who framed him and why, and what they hope to get out of all this.” 

Shuri hums as she leads them around the final corner, past prototypes and little gadgets here and there that T’Challa recognizes as gear upgrades for the four tribes. She takes them to a smaller section, devoid of other workers, each of them at their own stations. The glass doors wave open instantly for Shuri, Bucky, and Steve as they approach, but T’Challa has to wait until his sister scans  _ something  _ onto his neck that allows him entrance to the room. 

She gives him a look of apology, but now isn’t the time to figure all of this out. 

The room is white, with two long tables on it, and two cryo chambers to the left hand side. The tables each have a different set of weapons on them, reflective of each fighter. 

“I know it’s been a while since you were out in the field, but we do things differently here. This is going to be on the more stealthy side - I’m assuming, correct?” At T’Challa’s small nod, she continues, “Oh good! Then I didn’t waste my time.” 

She waves her hands in front of her and three semi spectral screens pop up. One floats above each table containing the various pieces of tech, while the other one remains in front of her, with a biometric outline of both Steve and Bucky’s bodies. 

“First things first: the suits. I didn’t want you to have to carry all of that gear with you, and I have better materials here than HYDRA could have ever dreamed of. It’s light, breathable, and more bullet proof than your old shield. I compressed them into these.” 

The display shifts to highlight a watch on Steve’s body, and Bucky’s entire left arm. “While they’re equipped, you just have to think about the suit that you want, and the suit will cover you, boots and all. For you, Steve, your shield comes out of the watch face. Once you call it, it operates exactly as your previous one, but if it were to, say, fall out of a crashing plane, you can summon it back to you with a press of a button.” 

“Like Thor’s hammer?” 

“Less destructive. The very particles disassemble and come back to the watch, ready to regroup and spring forward again.” The Steve diagram on the middle screen summons the suit and shield, throws the shield away, and calls it back. On the left most screen, the watch’s details and stats are clearly displayed. 

The shield is similar to the HYDRA model in that it was made of the same matte black. Only this time it had a silver star in the middle, and a ring of panther teeth around the outer edge of it, like the collar of T’Challa’s Panther Habit. It simultaneously was something only Steve could yield, but only something Wakanda could produce.

“As for you, Bucky, I had more room to work with. While this arm is for missions only, it does contain your suit, in addition to a few extra features. You have a reserve of nanites stored in your arm. In case of emergencies, merely think of the weapon you would like to have, and it will summon immediately to your grasp.” 

Bucky looks a little less than enthused with the idea of being able to summon weapons to his command, and Shuri puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. T’Challa watches as Steve once again shifts his body, which makes him inch closer in response. 

“Relax; I’ve  _ sort of _ limited it. And no one’s going to make you their puppet again anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about. You can’t summon anything that is Wakandan only, so you couldn’t summon some of my personal tech unless I’ve authorized it from here. See that?” She points to an open box of excess nanites, the same black sand material that creates most diagrams within Wakanda. “There is always a slight delay between our thoughts and our actions. When you wish for something to be summoned that goes beyond protocol, I’ll get a preview here. I can authorize it then. Eventually, this can go away - depending on the King’s wishes - but for now, it works, eh?” 

On screen, the arm summons a variety of weapons and then, perhaps to lighten the mood, an apple that the image of Bucky tries to eat. He then spits it out, making a little bit of a face, and Shuri laughs. “But don’t eat it.” 

“You think an apple is a weapon?” Bucky asks, laughing despite himself. 

Shuri holds her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey! Listen, if you drop a piece of corn off the side of the Citadel you could still kill a pigeon. It’s all about  _ timing. _ ”

The arm, just like the shield, has a sleeker design, definitely updated from the bright silver of before. It’s the same rich black that much of this gear has, with gold for each joint and plate in the arm. There’s a star on the shoulder, matching the star in the center of Steve’s shield. It’s only a shade lighter than the black, enough to keep it somewhat stealthy if no one is looking for the star in particular.

She gives them all a rather pleased smile, and T’Challa is surprised to see the genuine grins she gets in response from Steve and Bucky. 

“And of course, there’s the standard communications devices, instant translators, and hidden cameras if you wish to collect further information for us here, as well as guns, knives, and other offensive weaponry.” As she speaks, the screens slide down the table, rapidly demonstrating each piece of tech. She stands at the far end of the tables now, surveying them with a proud grin. 

“This is amazing, Shuri. Thank you, so much.” Steve’s heartfelt thanks is made even softer by Bucky leaning his head on his shoulder. 

“Don’t thank me, just, take care of the stuff. I’ve been sitting on some of these designs for literal  _ years _ . Didn’t know if Baba was ever going to let you into the world again.” 

T’Challa clears his throat at that, and Shuri’s smile falls just the tiniest bit. “Of course, you’re his problem now, so make of that what you will. Have you two eaten yet today?” 

They both nod, and Shuri gives them a thumbs up. “Good, good. I’ve been thinking about a suit that would feed you nutrients as you needed them, during longer fights or missions. Your metabolisms are crazy fast, and all that. But! If you’re all full, then I’ll just leave you and Brother to it!”

She points at T’Challa then. “And I have some updates for you as well. Improvements from Baba’s design. But when you’re ready to go out into the field, we can talk about those.” With that, she leaves the room. 

Steve turns to T’Challa, taking a deep breath. “You should be proud of her. She’s done so much, and at such a young age.” 

“I am proud of her. I can’t wait to see the scientist that she is to become.” That much, at least, they can agree on. “...What should we call you, when in the field? You are not Captain Hydra, and there is a new Captain America at large in the world. And...I don’t believe the Winter Soldier is a welcome name now either.” 

“Cap and Winter, is what we were thinking. But we’ll answer to whatever you’d like.” 

The casual way they hand over that power makes T’Challa blanche. “Was that part of the agreement? To answer to whatever the King called you?” 

They share a look, one that - despite where they are, despite that T’Challa is the King of this country, despite the fact that these two super soldiers have way more stacked against them than for them - makes T’Challa feel as if he is the outcast. 

“We told your father that we were content to do as the king asked, if he helped us. He helped us. And now we will do as the king asks.” That’s all Bucky says, but it seems to be enough for the time being. Secret weapons they may be, but they are losing time. It’s already been two days since the death of his father, and who knows where the real killer has gone. 

T’Challa nods to himself in thought. “...Alright. You are to act as emissaries to the Avengers and on behalf of Wakanda to find and apprehend who killed my father. Act in Wakanda’s best interests. Report to me all your findings. And when you get close...leave the kill for me. We are not yet ready for the true nature of Wakanda to be made public knowledge.” 

They each salute, inclining their heads and dropping to one knee once again. “Yes, King T’Challa.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stvebrnes) and pls pls comment! i'd love to know how you feel about this so far


	3. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cap and his Winter meet the Avengers. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the identity porn _really_ picks up in this chapter, so if it's confusing as to who steve's speaking about or to or why he uses certain titles for certain people, feel free to slide into the comments and ask! the next chapter is giving me a bit of a tough time, but it is from bucky's pov and then, i think, it'll really cement just how, kind of...."gone" steve is.
> 
> as for _why_ steve is this way while bucky seems relatively "normal," that shall be explained in later chapters. but i hope you enjoy reading nonetheless!!

After equipping their new gear from Shuri, and receiving further instruction from their king, the two of them head to the roof where a transport sits. They’ll be traveling in the company of Ayo and Xoliswa, both to pilot the ship and to add validation to Cap and his Winter’s claims of working for Wakanda. Ayo has met Natasha before, immediately after the events of Vienna, and the memory of their interaction gave T’Challa some kind of amusement, so Cap felt confident in her presence. 

Cap sits next to his Winter in the plane, arm over his shoulders. They’re reclining in an area to the side of the ship, blue and black and white patterns adorning the cushions. They’ve dressed professionally, if not casually. There’s no need to impress the Avengers. They’ll have more than enough of a struggle trying to get them to cooperate, and if memory serves correctly, there really... _ isn’t  _ a need for them to impress them. 

T’Challa said to work with them, not for them. This doesn’t have to be long lasting. 

Cap presses a soft kiss to his Winter’s temple, the familiar scent of old leather washed away, replaced with a peachy-floral scent that tickles Cap’s nose. They showered in the lab, wanting to get in the air as fast as possible without wasting time. Shuri’s soap and shampoo collection was much more indulgent than what they stocked at the farm, but when they had tried to talk to her about it, she just gave them this expectant look that withered their resolve. So the exceedingly rich fruity soaps remained.

His Winter tucks his face against Cap’s neck, though he doesn’t relax. He’d had a brief test run of acclimating to his new arm in the lab, mostly to check for flexibility and to give his Winter the feeling of walking with two arms again. 

This sleek redesign wasn’t as clunky as the Soviet arm from before. Shuri had explained something about the mechanics of having a lightweight arm but mostly Cap had been too busy pacing in a long line while his Winter got outfitted with the new arm. 

“How’s it feel?” he murmurs, watching the way the arm dully shines in the low light of the aircraft. 

His Winter shrugs against him. “It’s lighter than the other one. Feels more normal.” 

Cap hums, squeezing his Winter’s flesh shoulder with a warm intent. They sit in silence for a few moments, the near silent hum of the machinery only apparent to Cap and his Winter, with their enhanced hearing. 

“...Why me?” The question is one Cap has been contemplating since they learned of the assassination.

“Maybe it’s a taunt. The Avengers second biggest failure, after Sokovia, was not capturing us, and S.H.I.E.L.D’s biggest failure was letting HYDRA in under their noses. Using one of us as the killer at an event symbolizing the Avengers...I dunno, giving themselves up is kind of combining a lot of things at once.” 

His Winter grunts, a little dissatisfied with the answer. “But why me? Why not you?” 

Cap thinks about this. In all honesty, the difference between the two is only about methodology. Cap was tasked with interrogations, flushing out rival cells and bringing the big fire fights when missions went sideways. His Winter handled espionage, working in tandem with the Red Room far more than Cap ever did. They both were well versed in assassinations, enforcing HYDRA’s vision for the future with fist and shield. 

But they were still covert ops. Project Insight was the most civilian recognition that they’d gotten in recent years; all other photographic evidence of the two of them was for HYDRA handlers only. 

So whoever this is...they weren’t HYDRA. They couldn’t have been. If they were, they would have known better. 

All things considered, Cap should have been the one who was framed. Cap was the bruiser, though explosions weren’t necessarily his forte. So not only was the MO incorrect, but they picked the wrong one to frame. 

But that only applies if the taunt was for them, and it wasn’t. It was for the Avengers, not for Cap and his Winter.

“We won’t know for sure until we speak with them. If it was me, it may not have had the same effect.” 

His Winter looks up at him, silvery-blue eyes meeting violet-blue. There’s a slight pout to his lower lip, an expression of pitiful puppy dog eyes that he doubtlessly picked up from Shuri. “I hate waiting.” 

“I know, beloved.” 

Cap leans back against the edge of the seat, taking his Winter with him. The mechanical left arm is squeezed between the two, hand spread over Cap’s knee. It truly is a marvel of craftsmanship. 

“When we get there,” his Winter murmurs, “are you going to…?” He taps the watch lightly with his metallic finger, making a soft clinking sound. 

Cap shakes his head. “No. Let’s see how they react. If they want a fight, they’ll get one.” 

“Let’s not forget that this is diplomacy,” Ayo chimes in from the pilots chair. Her hands remain steady, glowing rings surrounding her forearms as she sits cross legged in the cockpit of the ship. “You are to work in Wakanda’s best interests.” 

“We’re not going to  _ start  _ anything, but if they start shooting at us I’m not just going to take it. Trust me, I don’t want any more paperwork than you do.” 

Xoliswa currently lounges across the chamber, ankles crossed and arms crossed behind her head. “If you kill that spider, I’m sure Ayo would be willing to look the other way,” she murmurs, nose scrunching in that way that betrays her amusement at the situation. 

“...I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ayo curtly replies. 

“I mean, I did throw her out of a crashing plane once.” 

“Shut up.” Xoliswa looks over at them, not moving from her relaxed position. “Before you came to us?” 

“Yeah, it was the last hurrah.” Cap considers himself lucky in that he can recall those memories at all. They aren’t exactly a  _ good _ time for him, but he does look back at them with some kind of attachment. They were him but also...not him. He knows his Winter had a harder time determining what the lines were between the here and now, and the events of the past, but he’s much better than he used to be. The bad days still come, but only every so often. 

His Winter laughs a little at the dryness. “We’ll probably have to apologize for that.” 

Cap shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll do it again too if they piss me off.” 

“What did I just say about diplomacy??” Ayo turns fully around, still connected to be flying the ship but now facing both of them. “You so much as  _ think  _ about endangering this mission--” 

“We wouldn’t!” They chorus in unison. 

“Wakanda means far too much to us for us to jeopardize this.” His Winter lets Cap take his jaw in his hand, even as he explains to himself. 

“We  _ will  _ figure out what happened, Task Force be damned,” Cap finishes, his focus already shifting to his Winter.

Ayo and Xoliswa exchange a look. Cap turns to his Winter, gently running his knuckles through the scruff along his Winter’s jaw. 

The ship is quiet, but not tense. Cap knows that he and his Winter aren’t often the subject of conversation within the Dora Milaje, unless there has been a recent interaction between the two groups.

This is their first task appointed to them, however. Ayo and Xoliswa are right to be concerned, because there is no precedent for a mission such as this. But Okoye’s trust in their abilities to complete the mission without revealing Wakandan secrets or jeopardizing the safety of the nation makes Cap feel at ease. At least someone trusts them. 

And T’Challa too, though it’s hard not to have a small part of him of the opinion that T’Challa did this out of fear. Fear that inaction would lead to consequences that he could not control, but fear of the most direct course of action, which would quickly become an international diplomatic nightmare. Cap hasn’t read the Sokovia Accords, but he understood the basic gist when he searched them up in the first 15 minutes of the flight. It hadn’t taken that long for him and his Winter to comb through it, finding some notable exceptions to the list of people who would be under the control of the UN panel. 

Among them, Tony Stark. 

His Winter moves to get up, going to the center of the ship, where he can see out the windows. Cap lets him; he trusts this setting. There is no danger that can come to his Winter here. The place they travel to, however, holds quite possibly much more danger than they had anticipated. They know of the Avengers who signed the accord - Iron Man, War Machine, Vision (and  _ that  _ was a weird concept, because do living computer programs count as a person?), and Black Widow - as well as the two who refused: Captain America and Scarlet Witch. Cap isn’t certain if they’ll be at the facility; technically, by refusing the document, they’ve been forced into retirement. Or, vigilante work, as was far more in Captain America’s wheelhouse. 

The biggest threats, diplomatically, are Iron Man and Black Widow. The former holds the majority of Avenger resources, while the latter holds good favor with their king. He won’t jeopardize that relationship, but he recalls the training his Winter gave to the little spider back in the Red Room days. 

“Beloved,” he murmurs, in soft Russian, “who would we endear ourselves to first? The spider or the leader?” 

He watches his Winter think for a moment. “I...don’t think she remembers me. But I think if we present the facts, she’ll see reason. She’s an opportunist.”  _ Like us  _ goes unsaid. 

“So we approach the spider first, and see what comes of that.” 

His Winter shifts a little in his stance that has nothing to do with any turbulence the craft is experiencing. His Winter lightly touches his new and improved arm to the center console, the nanites lightly swirling up to meet his hand. It looks like magic or science, magnetic sand pulled to a magnet, but Cap feels it might be somewhere between the two. In another lifetime, he’s certain his Winter would have given anything to be able to work in a country whose scientific marvels rival the very laws of science. But this is not another life, and too much has been given already. 

“I think we should let the video speak for itself.” His Winter swirls the nanites into a sparkling map, suspended in the air, excess pulled from the chambers in his arm. The map of the Milky Way sprawls out in the center of the ship, hovering in mid air. The center circles around his Winter’s left hand, spinning outward, seeming to pass through his body. 

His Winter is the center of Cap’s world, and he is in love. 

“Let our King do the introductions. After all, the Avengers might prove useless. We can work with useless,” his Winter continues, not looking away from the center of the blackened galaxy. 

Cap nods, still watching the slow circle of the universe around his love. 

“If you two are quite finished,” Ayo pipes up, not looking at them as she finishes moving her arms in a gentle pattern, setting the ship to hover in the sky, “We’ve arrived.” 

The galaxy falls apart, nanites returning in equal measure to his Winter’s arm as well as the center console of the ship. “That was a fast flight,” his Winter murmurs. 

Ayo and Xoliswa exchange a glance, before standing from their respective seats. They equip their spears, walking to the doorway that will beam them down to the New Avengers Facility. “You two...lost some time, for a little while there,” Xoliswa quietly explains.

It’s not tense, per say, but Cap knows it doesn’t bode well. If the two of them can forget an hour of being in the ship, what’s to say they’re ready for field work? But he still stands, lightly tugging on his cufflinks. “Just lost in thought.” It is both an explanation and an end to the conversation. 

Ayo and Xoliswa nod curtly and step out of the ship in a burst of light. 

His Winter turns to Cap, brows furrowed in concern. His restless anticipation of this meeting hasn’t left, though they are only three minutes from entering the facility. 

Cap takes his flesh hand, gently kissing the knuckles there. “If anything happens to you, I’ll burn this place to the ground,” he solemnly promises. 

His Winter chuckles, a rare but tender sound, and pulls him in for a proper kiss. They each taste like mint and coffee, alert and sharp, and Cap groans a little as he sneaks a hand back to squeeze his beloved’s ass. His Winter moans into the kiss, but is the first one to pull back. 

“Let’s do this baby.” 

* * *

They can hear the arguing from outside the compound. Even without the serum, Cap’s pretty sure they would have been able to hear it. 

And it sounds like Captain America hasn’t yet left the premises either, because that is  _ distinctly _ his voice. 

As they approach, hands in their pockets, Ayo and Xoliswa walking ahead of them, they take note of the security measures around the facility. Even with the events that lead to Tony Stark’s AI turning into a full fledged humanoid, it still appears that he relies entirely on automated technology. A gross oversight, if the events of Sokovia were to be believed, but Cap doesn’t hold out much hope for the ingenuity of Stark’s creations. He’s seen more modern marvels from a teenager across the ocean. 

Hell, he’s  _ wearing  _ some of them. 

Ayo and Xoliswa approach the front door to what appears to be the domestic quarters, where much of the yelling is coming from. By now, Cap bothers to tune into the words. 

“--a professional murderer and you’re just gonna sit back here and do nothing until your UN panel, what, lets you off your leash?” Captain America.

“See, it’s stuff like this that makes me wonder how you even got this far. What--” Tony Stark.

“Oh what the  _ hell  _ is that supposed to mean, Stark?” 

“--do you want me to do, just break the law?”

“Since when do you give a  _ shit  _ about the law? Do I have to remind you how you  _ got  _ your money?” 

“That’s a low fucking blow, Wilson--” 

The Cap, his Winter, Ayo, and Xoliswa all share a look. 

“...It’s too late to go back to the ship, isn’t it?” his Winter mutters, making Cap quietly laugh. 

“King’s orders, my love.” 

His Winter huffs, not too happy with the development, but then Ayo reaches forward and knocks harshly on the door. The arguing stops from within. Cap hears the soft mechanical whine as the camera embedded above the door swivels just enough to capture his Winter in the field.

Or it would, if he and his Winter were visible. It’s an old trick, embedded into the regular suits they wear. It’s enough to erase their heat signatures and render them completely invisible. The tech goes all the way back to the 90s, so it’s ancient tech by Shuri’s standards, but she appreciated a dramatic entrance. 

They stand completely still, watching Ayo and Xoliswa wait until the door is opened. It’s the spider, dressed comfortably for the hot summer weather, even this far in the north. 

She scans the impassive faces of Ayo and Xoliswa, before looking briefly behind them. “Will King T’Challa be joining us?” 

Ayo says nothing, jaw tight. 

“No. He does send aid in this time of need. May we proceed?” Xoliswa explains, gesturing to enter the house with the edge of her spear. 

Natasha nods, deferential to the new legal chessboard she finds herself on. As the women turn to go in, Cap and his Winter step in behind them. The space is modern, akin to a Wakandan middle school. Cap quietly runs a finger in a circle around his watch face, opening a communications channel to Shuri’s lab. It’s not strictly for the mission, but he knows she likes to see where the rest of the world is so she herself can improve on her own designs. 

He can practically see her smile in his head.  _ I’m sure they’re trying their best, Steve.  _

There’s a small sitting area next to a kitchenette space, where Captain America stands next to Iron Man, arms crossed over his chest in a way that shows they clearly only  _ just  _ stopped arguing. He looks bigger than they last recall seeing him, but two years of nonstop HYDRA hunting would do that. Iron Man looks haggard and exhausted, like he’s been awake for far too long with not enough coffee in his body, but the soft tremble to his fingertips betrays that maybe that’s  _ not  _ the problem. 

The Witch sits on the edge of the couch, Vision perched next to her, arm over her shoulders. She looks equally perturbed, red eyes glowing a little bit, though no magic concentrates at her fingertips. War Machine has an armchair to himself, head leaning against one hand, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Cap knows from the files that War Machine has deep ties with Iron Man, and to get one is to get the other, but they aren’t here to recruit. 

They’re here for answers.

“Oh good, guests. Hope you didn’t hear that little spat.” 

“Now you give a shit about manners?” Captain America steps into the room, and it takes everything within Cap to not step in front of his Winter, just in case. 

Vision and the Witch don’t speak, but the both of them seem to look past the Dora Milaje, towards where Cap and Winter actually stand. Something about the Witch is tugging at a memory Cap has, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe if she spoke--

“Not that we don’t love having people over, but what exactly are you doing here? Appointments are by UN council only,” Tony continues.

“I dunno, maybe they want to speak to the only two people who are actually free to  _ help  _ them in any capacity,” the bird snarks back. 

Ayo and Xoliswa tap their spears on the floor, a harsh click that silences conversation. Ayo holds her right arm out, a little bead in the palm of her hand. The bead turns into a full screen, hovering in front of her. 

King T’Challa sits in his throne in his royal fineries, his mother seated by his side. The throne room has the same beautiful gilded gold as the rest of the Citadel, though this has been altered so as not to expose the true nature of the city out the windows behind them. T’Challa looks strong, Ramonda equally so, but Cap can see - even backwards through the rear of the video - the tension underlying them both. This is a moment of great faith, not only in him and his Winter, but in the Avengers to not let them down one final time.

T’Challa takes a steadying breath, before tipping his chin up, and beginning his address. “I hope you can forgive me for not being there in person. In the aftermath of two great losses for my people, I found the safety of Wakanda to be my highest priority. However, in the interest of having my father’s killer caught, I have launched my own independent investigation. Two emissaries have traveled here to assist me in that mission. They report to me, and me directly. I have already conferenced with your Task Force; they are aware that I am doing this. I seek information, not violence. They have been instructed to work with the Avengers, and to act in Wakanda’s best interests. I trust you’ll be willing and able to assist them in this matter.” 

The video flickers out, Ayo closing her hand around the bead and tucking it away in her belt. Before anyone can ask any questions, Ayo and Xoliswa tap their spears on the ground one time, causing a temporary blackout within the facility. Cap turns to his Winter as they drop the invisibility in their suits, stepping up to be between Ayo and Xoliswa, who tap their spears again. The entire process takes less than five seconds, during which nearly everyone has some kind of reaction to Iron Man’s tech being bested. 

_ Better get used to it,  _ Cap thinks to himself. 

When the lights return, after the second tap, the room is frozen. Cap regards the group with dispassionate eyes, though he knows his Winter has already resorted back to his unfairly endearing sadness. That expression was why HYDRA enforced the goggles and mask in the first place, and why Cap only had to wear a cowl. 

Quickly, he scans the room. 

The spider looks floored, and immediately trapped. She’s backed herself into a diplomatic nightmare, because if she attacks them - they, who have been declared emissaries to a king - after signing the Accords, she’s as good as dead. Iron Man seems to be on that same page as well, as does War Machine. 

Captain America looks...difficult to read. His arms remain crossed, though now it has taken a defensive position. He is without his shield; in fact, he is without any tac gear at all. Cap knows that Iron Man and War Machine could summon their suits, but in that time, how much would Mr. Wilson be able to accomplish? 

Vision and the Witch look equally startled, though they first look to each other. Cap hears his Winter slightly tighten his jaw at the exchange; there is  _ something  _ about her that now has her on both of their radars, but neither of them can comprehend  _ why.  _

Cap waits, and when no movement is made, he takes a small step forward. Immediately the Witch, Vision, and Natasha look ready to strike. Cap goes to summon his shield, wanting to pull his Winter behind him, but the Dora Milaje step forward. Their spear tips unfold, glowing blue as a protective dome covers the four of them. 

“If you lay a hand on them, we will be forced to take action.” It’s a level statement from Ayo, but Cap knows the intent behind it. He stands out of his aborted motion to pull his Winter to safety, turning to look at the room. “If we wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. You heard our King--” 

“ _ Your  _ King? I’m sorry, did we miss something?” Iron Man stands from the seat, hands in his pockets. 

“Did you not...we’re the emissaries he was talking about. I know you’ve had a lot of head injuries but do try to follow the red bouncing ball.” 

His Winter makes a soft noise behind him. He turns to look, immediately, only to be met with a disapproving expression. “We’re supposed to be working  _ with  _ them,” he says quietly in Xhosa. “Stop being mean.” 

Cap sighs, but turns back to the group. Ayo and Xoliswa condense their spears again, the forcefield disappearing into nothingness. “Sorry. Just been a long flight. And day. And life. And T’Chaka’s killer is still out there so we’d like some information from you, if you would find that...amenable.” 

“I’m sorry, are we supposed to believe that you two - who  _ destroyed  _ S.H.I.E.L.D - are now on the side of the good guys?” Captain America speaks up, jaw still tight. Cap notices how he stands close to the Witch, but not quite as close as Vision. 

“We are on the side our King asks us to be on. In this case, we share a goal. The real killer blamed me, an impossibility because we were otherwise occupied. So if you have any leads, that would be much appreciated.” His Winter speaks up for the first time, hands in his pockets.

Cap knows they look vastly different than their files. They aren’t wearing tacgear or iconic suits, his Winter’s arm is fully covered by the suit jacket. They don’t even look armed. The duo who toppled regimes and tipped history in HYDRA’s favor for over 70 years now stands in the Avengers’ headquarters in Armani suits with Wakandan tech, asking not to be immediately turned over. 

But this is how the business works now. Partners come in all shapes and sizes, especially when the governments of the world get involved. 

“We need a moment to talk about this.” 

Captain America turns to look at the spider, incredulous. “Who exactly is talking about this?” 

“Well...if T’Challa has gone through the panel, then we’re authorized to help. You could be a consultant, if you aren’t going to go out in a blaze of glory. That would get you arrested.” Natasha’s trying to get him to comply, to present a united front, but it’s useless for Cap. He’s seen enough. 

“Look, you sort out whatever you have to sort out. We’ll be waiting when you’ve decided whether or not you want to help us catch the killer none of you saw coming.” 

“And you?” Iron Man stalks forward. “The world thinks that you’re the culprits, and there’s a pretty penny on every major intelligence agency’s most wanted for you, _ Captain Hydra _ . Does the CIA know you’re here? Interpol? MI6?” 

“The King of Wakanda knows we’re here and that is all that matters.” 

“Yeah but CIA wants Barnes in a cell and they’d be jumping for joy if you were next to ‘im. I say--” 

“Tony, perhaps this is not the best method.” Vision speaks up for the first time, his calm voice cutting through Tony’s carefully constructed anger. Cap does not look away from him. He knows he’s a far cry from the golden boy he once was, and he remembers Howard both before and after he came into HYDRA’s care. Perhaps it’s the long years of torture and living in isolation but right now Cap can’t see any glimmer of recognition in Tony’s eyes. 

“Taunting them with capture is only going to get us into bigger trouble. This isn’t some juvenile disagreement, this risks catastrophe, assuming the red tape and bureaucracy doesn’t gum up the process any more than it already will. And if they’ve been sent here on a peaceful mission in cooperation with the world’s leaders, who are we to stand in their way?” 

Tony whirls on Vision, attempting to do...something, but Cap doesn’t have time for this. “We’ll leave you to it.” 

“With all due respect, we don’t exactly want you wandering around the facility.” The spider’s diplomatic voice clearly touches something within his Winter. Cap puts a hand out, gently wrapping around his love’s metal bicep, tugging him closer. 

“We won’t. We’ll go right there; you take all the time you need.” Cap nods towards a conference room, paneled with glass walls. It’s right next to the seating area, which makes no sense to Cap, but he’s lived on a farm for the past two years so what does he know?

Before anyone can stop them, they step into the room, Ayo and Xoliswa following them, posting on either side of the door, protecting Cap and his Winter from whatever further aggression may come.

Cap hears Tony say something about “additional privacy” and then his hearing is cut off from the rest of the compound. He looks out the glass, able to still see everything, but he can no longer hear beyond the glass panes. 

“...Guess we’re soundproofed,” he murmurs, keeping a hand around his Winter’s waist.

His Winter leans against the table, pulling Cap close against him. “That didn’t go as horribly as it could’ve. But you have to play nice.” 

“I was playing nice; I could’ve decapitated him.” 

His Winter huffs, working his flesh hand up into Cap’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. Cap feels his resolve beginning to melt, though not his awareness of their surroundings. “That is not playing nice. We represent the king, we can’t be cutthroat out the gate.” 

“They need to know who they’re working with.” 

“Right now, they don’t even think they’re working  _ with  _ us.” 

“No.” Cap pulls back, violet eyes meeting icy clear blue. “They want to take you away.” He puts his hands on his Winter’s hips, holding onto him tightly. “I--” 

His Winter hushes him, still petting through his hair. “I know, I know. You’ll kill them all if they touch me.” Even though he says it with a long suffering look, he still gives him a small knowing smile, before softly kissing him. 

Despite his frustration at the general situation, he finds himself relaxing more into the touch. “Just want you safe, sweetheart. Whatever that means.” 

“That means clearing my name,” his Winter continues. Cap remembers that his Winter has always been the people pleaser. He’s always been able to read people better than Cap, but Cap has a sense for danger unparalleled. “And that means playing  _ nicely.  _ No more insults.” 

He searches his Winter’s gaze, but when there’s no giving in, he sighs and ducks his head. His Winter places a soft kiss to his forehead, and he hums quietly. “For you.” 

For an hour, they remain embraced like this in the side room, unable to hear the goings on outside. It would be enough to drive any man crazy, being trapped in silence like this, but Cap finds ways to distract himself. Mostly focusing on the task at hand, but also taking time to show those who would dare to look over at the two of them that they truly are a pair.

He fills in his Winter with the conclusions he had come to on the plane; the assassination was a message, not just a senseless killing, but the audience intended for that message changed who could have sent it. Whoever it was, it had to be someone that had some kind of personal vendetta against the Avengers, but they weren’t strong enough to go against them directly. Instead, flaunt a failure - in this case, the Winter Soldier from two years ago - to possibly bait them into breaking their newfound guidelines.

Just waiting in this room gives him time to think about the Avengers on the other side of the wall. Particularly the youngest looking one, the one with the glowing eyes. He tips his head up a smidge, lips brushing against his Winter’s throat. 

“Do you recognize her?”

His Winter pauses for a moment, and Cap feels guilty about asking for recall of HYDRA focused memories. Those were the hardest to recall on certain days, as if his Winter’s very body didn’t wish to recall them. Cap can’t blame him; he’d remove all memories from that time if he could. But this is...something else. 

“She’s the one who can do the mind tricks,” his Winter eventually responds. “The forcefield and other physical manipulations. One of the uh...German experiments. Strucker, I believe.” 

“...Didn’t she have a brother?” That term could be used loosely. Some HYDRA scientists referred to Cap and his Winter as siblings, due to the versions of the serum coursing through their veins, changing their DNA in parallel to each other. They quickly lost interest in that terminology the first time they walked in on Cap making sure his Winter was safe from harm. So that could have been her actual brother, or it could have been someone who underwent a similar procedure.

His beloved nods. “They were twins, even before the experiments. I think he died in Sokovia. Or went off the grid, but I don’t think he’d let her join up with them without him if he had a choice.” 

Cap’s still mulling over the implications of his love’s words when he gets a message in his ear. Shuri’s voice comes to him from the nearly invisible earpiece tucked just inside his ear canal.

“Any luck so far?” 

His Winter perks up a little, hearing the voice in his own ear. Cap has his face nuzzled against his Winter’s neck, so he’s content to let him answer. 

“Um, not so much. They’ve been at it for a while, but I think they’re...maybe coming around.” 

“I told Brother it might have been better to just do things our way.” 

“Diplomacy is a nightmare, Princess. I think he’s just doing what he thinks is best. Plus, if anything goes wrong, we’re expendable anyway.” 

Cap growls a little at that; his Winter pets his hair, gently calming him. 

“Other than that, I don’t think there’s anything of note. I know Cap was showing you some stuff when we first got here.” 

“Yeahhhh. Nothing of note, really. Or, well, it’s all of  _ note,  _ but I’ve seen it before.” She sounds actually disappointed. The relationship his Winter and Shuri have is a unique one, but a close one. While Cap knows he’s allowed himself to more...embrace this nebulous fifth persona that he’s become since his treatment in Wakanda, his Winter has always been more on the personable side. Of course he’d bond with the one person who could show him as much science and technology as he could handle. With his enhanced brain function, thanks to the serum and the trauma treatments, his Winter has learned more than would have been possible anywhere else. 

Cap tunes out the rest of his Winter and Shuri’s conversation, instead peering through the glass to the sitting area. Wilson has now taken a seat on the opposite couch, next to Natasha. The Witch remains on the couch next to Vision. She’s looking at them, brows pinched together. Perhaps she’s also experiencing the weird connection they both have. But her eyes have that same glow to them as before, and Cap isn’t quite sure what that means. 

“Shuri, can you look something up for us?” he murmurs, interrupting the current conversation. 

“You have phones, but sure, I can pause my very important projects and do a Google search for an old man.” He hears typing on the other end of the comm, and looks up at his Winter, who shrugs. 

Cap thinks for a moment. “I want to see if there’s overlap between the Avengers and people your father would have known. Past business dealers with people who have threatened Wakanda in the past.” 

He can practically feel Shuri hesitating over the line, but a slow “...Okay…” comes out, followed by more typing. “Do you want me to send it to you? Or just read you what I find?” 

“When you find it, let me know. I don’t want a paper trail. Just, trying to figure out who this was for.” 

Shuri’s quiet, and Cap abruptly remembers that she’s an 18 year old girl. For all of her intelligence, she is still new to the world. It’s that fact that makes him quietly say, “Thank you. Call us when you find something, okay?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

The line stays open, but goes quiet, and Cap looks up at his Winter. “I’m not waiting here any longer while they try to figure out what to do with us. The real killer is getting away. If you want to salvage any kind of working relationship with them, now is the time.” He speaks quietly, his hands still on his Winter’s hips. 

His Winter nods. “Let me...just. Let me try.” He puts his metal hand on Cap’s chest, over his heart. “Let me try,” he repeats, before heading to the door. 

Ayo and Xoliswa look bored out of their minds. “Starting to think we drew the short straw,” Xoliswa mutters in Xhosa, getting a small laugh out of his Winter. Cap gives her a knowing look, but follows his Winter back into the room. 

The chatter falls silent. His Winter waits, before coming over and perching on the edge of the couch arm where Natasha and Wilson are sitting. Nat is doing her best to not look perturbed, but Wilson’s distrust of them is apparent. 

“It’s been an hour; have you reached a consensus?” Diplomatic words from his Winter’s smokey voice. Cap wants to pull him against him, keep his Winter behind him in case of violence, but he keeps his hands in his pockets and instead quietly prowls around the outside of the couches. 

“We are...divided,” Natasha begins. 

“Who could have possibly seen that coming?” Cap mutters under his breath. His Winter ignores him, but he knows he heard. The Witch looks up as he circles by her, eyes glowing a little more. Cap feels something of a pressure against his forehead, like a warm breath. “No tricks, little witch. Not this time.” 

She looks not quite ashamed, but definitely confused as to the purpose of the remark, as if he’s not supposed to  _ know  _ what she’s trying to do.

Cap continues on his circle, knowing that he’ll have more time to talk to her later. After all, both being projects of HYDRA leaves them with more in common than first glance would reveal. 

“We have someone working on answering this question for us, but we figured it would be easier to just ask you. Do any of you have any connection to Wakanda at all?” 

“With all due respect, Wakanda has been off the map for years. It’s only just stepped into the UN’s radar. What makes you think any of us would have a connection?” War Machine posits this question as he crosses his legs, tilting his head as he takes in Cap’s slow circles. 

“It doesn’t have to be a connection with the country. Maybe just with T’Chaka,” Cap explains. 

“Assassinations can be carried out in a multitude of ways. To do something this public is to send a message. Obviously it has to do with you, as it was the signing of  _ your  _ Accords. And, I mean, you’d already pissed off Wakanda earlier with what happened in Lagos. We’re just trying to figure out if it’s more than that.” 

“To plant a bomb right across the street from where a major political event is taking place, and for it to only be found after the event has started? This was a calling card, we’re just trying to figure out who sent it.” 

Cap knows he and his Winter’s way of delivering information often leaves no room for interruption, and seems like it’s been rehearsed. But there are parts of this dialogue that blend sitreps with communication, and so they wind up--

“What, you trying to Good Cop Bad Cop us?” Wilson speaks up for the first time since his argument with Tony, acute brown eyes following Cap as he makes another round. “We’re not playing mind games with y’all.” 

“Well, she’s trying to,” Cap says, pointing at the Witch. “But if that’s off the table I’m sure she’ll comply, right Little Witch?” 

His Winter reaches over and grabs Cap before he can begin a third circle, wrapping his vibranium hand around Cap’s wrist. Immediately he stands closer to his Winter, lacing their fingers together. He bites his tongue from saying anything further,  _ knowing  _ his Winter will be...less than happy with how he’s been acting this time around.

“Hey, Steve?” Shuri speaks up in the comm system, taking Cap’s attention for the time being. He remains watching the group, still holding his Winter’s hand, listening to the words coming through the line. 

“Yeah?” 

“Remember the work you promised to help us with, back when you first arrived? With your information on Ulysses Klaue?” 

He can see his Winter’s jaw tense a little, also listening to the words. 

“Yeah, I remember.” 

“Back when Tony Stark was still dealing arms, he met him at a conference. He’s the one who stole vibranium from us, and apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. had him on a watch list because he tried to kill Baba before. For the vibranium. But he got in anyway, stole some...that much you already know.” 

Cap’s eyes flick to Stark. “...Interesting.” 

“There were HYDRA guys at that conference too, Steve. Including the guy who made the Scarlet Witch.” 

“...That much I had put together, but that’s rather interesting. Thanks.” 

Stark meets Cap’s gaze. “I’m sorry, do you  _ want  _ to fill the class in on the rest of what’s going on with you two? Do you need our help or not?” 

His Winter squeezes his hand tight enough that his bones begin to complain. So he stays silent, not rising to the taunt. 

“When’s the last time you heard from Klaue?” his Winter asks instead. 

Stark blanches a bit at that, and even the Witch looks uncomfortable.

“Last year, Ultron cut his arm off. Why?” Wilson jumps in again. 

“He’s been wanted by Wakanda for 30 years. He deals in weaponry, he’s made an assassination attempt on the king before, and he’s stolen precious resources from the country. If he thought he had a shot, this might be it.” 

“That’s not Klaue’s MO though. He doesn’t just act by himself.” 

“He only speaks to the man in charge,” the Witch murmurs, getting Cap’s attention. She looks up at him, rose eyes meeting violet. “I remember that policy very clearly.”

“So maybe he was hired,” Nat volunteers. “He was paid 10 million last time, if memory serves correctly. Maybe someone was setting him up to take the fall for it?” 

War Machine rubs his temple. “We have no proof that it  _ is  _ him. This is just a connection, it could be a red herring. There’s no way to verify--” 

“Well, we could go find him and ask. Either way, Wakanda’s been hunting for him, so that would be cleaning up shop for us. If he did have something to do with it, now we have a lead. If he didn’t, we’re solving a problem that’s been haunting Wakanda for decades.” His Winter continues to take point, metal thumb now rubbing soft circles on the back of Cap’s hand. 

The Witch bites her lower lip, putting a hand on Vision’s knee as she sits a little further forward on the couch. “His last known base of operations was off the African coast, at the Salvage Yard. But the chances of him returning there are slim to none.”

“Can you track him?” The question may be futile, but he might as well ask it. 

Before Wanda can speak, however, Tony cuts her off. “She can’t do anything until we’ve determined what we can and can’t help with. Quite honestly? I think we’ve done just about as much as we can.” 

Cap bites his lower lip, displeased with the current state of affairs, but his Winter squeezes his hand once more, signalling that now’s the time to disengage. He’s already bulldozed through several standards of political etiquette. Now’s the time to save face. 

That, and the Dora Milaje need to get back to Wakanda sooner rather than later. 

He gives a curt nod to the room, still watching Tony as he goes to make his departure. “We’ll be in touch if we find anything.” 

“And where, exactly, are you going?” the spider asks, looking over the back of the couch as they leave back towards the door where they had come in. Ayo and Xoliswa follow, curt and professional. 

“To find Klaue,” Cap tosses over his shoulder without looking back. “Someone has to.” 

He doesn’t miss the purposeful glance Captain America and the Scarlet Witch give to each other. Unfortunately, neither does Black Widow. 


End file.
